He ran to "Yankee Mick's" saloon, a "millionaire" of late,
And pleaded with the landlord to let him have "the slate".
But "Yankee Mick" was mighty quick to tell him firmly "No!"
Then Clancy smashed the place about and told him where to go.

From pub to pub he made his way in alcoholic scrounge,
But rumour had preceded him to every bar and lounge.
Fair weather friends had gripped his hand and helped him spend his dough,
But now that he was penniless, they didn't want to know.

To think that not so long ago he had five thousand smackers -
If he didn't get a gargle soon he surely would go crackers.
He tore his hair in deep despair then a vision came to him
Of a little house a mile from town, a hovel dark and grim.

  Within that house there lived a man, a scoundrel far from civil,
And rumour was that late at night he entertained the divvle.
If Satan came to socialise, there surely would be beer
'Twas hardly likely such a rogue would be a Pioneer.*

*A member of a Total Abstainance Society

The townsfolk kept well out of sight and mongrels ran to hide,
As Clancy headed out of town with ever quickening stride.
And as the high road beckoned he hit it on the run,
To dissipate the mile between himself and Satan's son.

Although he'd been a local for thirty years or more,
This chap was seldom sighted beyond his cabin door.
But Tom had long forgotten the things some folks had said,
When he charged the door and entered where others feared to tread.

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